


The Price to Pay

by Yminga



Series: Full Circle [1]
Category: Atlantis (UK TV)
Genre: M/M, preslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-19
Updated: 2013-12-19
Packaged: 2018-01-05 03:34:01
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1089121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Yminga/pseuds/Yminga
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Jason fails to kill Pasiphae, he believes he's ready to face the consequences of his decision - but what happens when Pythagoras is the one to come to harm?</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Price to Pay

**Part one**

Any second now, Jason is going to find it in himself to strike Pasiphae.

It doesn’t matter that less than a year ago, it would have been utterly laughable to suggest Jason would ever kill anything bigger than a spider. In this world, he has already killed – both mythical creatures and bandits. His past life is long gone, and he has few regrets.

And yet, this is something else entirely. This isn’t self-defence, or a fair fight gone to its unfortunate conclusion. It’s him standing in the dark with a sword, readying himself to plunge it into a woman’s sleeping body.

It’s not like he has much of a choice in the matter; he has promised Circe he would kill her sister, and has the brand on his arm to prove it. He tries to remember the queen is hardly innocent; she has made attempts of her own against Jason’s life, had Korinna killed, and plotted against her husband and Ariadne.

Still he hesitates, and soon enough the door quietly opens. Pythagoras tiptoes into the room, shuts the door and comes to stand near him.

“Jason, the guards will soon be here; Hercules is waiting for our signal to distract them so we can leave.” His hand on Jason’s shoulder, he whispers those words in his ear, even though the door is made of solid wood and Pasiphae is under the influence of a sleeping draught, unlikely to awaken if he shouted them.

Even now, even after all it has taken them to be here, there’s no pressure or judgment coming from Pythagoras; his words are a simple statement of fact. As Jason looks at his friend – the kindest man he has ever known – his throat inexplicably tightens.

“Pythagoras.” Jason’s breath has left him, and his next words are an anguished whisper. “I’m no assassin.”

Pythagoras squeezes his shoulder and smiles sadly as he agrees: “No, you’re not. You are, however, the man who taught me it’s possible to challenge the gods. If you wish to fight this fate, then I’ll stand by your side and fight it alongside you.”

There’s absolutely no time for this, they needed to be on their way minutes ago, but Jason finds himself hugging his friend tight for a few heartbeats anyway. Whispering a quick thank you, he seizes Pythagoras’s hand as he lets go of him, heading for the door with his friend in tow. He really should be concentrating on whether their plan to get them safely out of the palace is going to work, or wondering when Circe will learn of his failure to execute her orders and what form her revenge will take; yet most of his attention is focused on this point of contact, on Pythagoras’s long and warm fingers enclosed in his.

***

Jason had wondered whether Hercules would give him a hard time for failing to go through with their plan at the last possible second, but the older man is uncharacteristically silent as they sneak back to their home in the dawn light. They are all rather sombre as they settle around the table, and it occurs to Jason that this scene feels far too familiar; truly, the amount of danger they manage to find themselves in on a regular basis is nothing short of extraordinary.

It’s Pythagoras, with his usual brand of quiet courage, who is the first to break the silence.

“Alright, so…we probably should try and protect any pigs who find their way in there in the next few days. It would be quite a pity for any of us to end up in a stew after all we’ve survived until now.”

Hercules snorts, and just like that the situation doesn’t seem insurmountable anymore.

“Actually, I was wondering how long it would take for Circe to know Pasiphae is still alive. It might be possible to get to her before she learns and…” Jason’s voice trails off. “Convince her the queen was too well-guarded and that I need more time?” Even to his ears, his solution sounds feeble; Circe’s haste had been obvious to all of them.

Hercules isn’t convinced either.

“I doubt it would do us much good – she didn’t exactly strike me as a patient woman. Besides, she’s probably been scrying, and has seen the whole thing.”

Jason opens his mouth, but Hercules explains before he can ask, throwing him the by-now familiar look conveying how constantly amazed he is by Jason’s ignorance about everything.

“She’s using witchcraft to watch you in a recipient of pure water. Now that I think about it, this must be how she first learnt of your existence.”

“So she knows everything.”

The silence falls back, even thicker than before. Hercules makes an attempt at lifting it again.

“Even if she does, scrying only allows her to see you. If she wants to harm you, she’ll have to come here – and we’ll be waiting for her!”

Once again, the scene is familiar. Jason remembers sitting at this very table, an eternity or two ago, as Hercules promised Pythagoras, in the same too-enthusiastic voice, that he would find a way to kill the Minotaur. Hercules had turned out to be half right – the Minotaur _had_ ended up dead, although not at the mathematician’s hand; this time, however, he’s wrong.

“Actually, she won’t have to.” Jason answers, far more calmly than he feels. “She said she could directly reach me through this.”

As he speaks, he rolls up his left sleeve and turns his wrist to let them see the ugly mark he usually strives to keep out of everyone’s sight. It might be paranoia speaking, but it looks a bit darker than before to him.

Pythagoras, who has stayed silent during their exchange, suddenly leans forward.

“May I?” He asks, his hand hovering above Jason’s arm.

Jason just nods, knowing that if someone among them has a chance of figuring out how this connection works, it’s the one with the genius brain; however, when Pythagoras brings down his hand to cover up the mark on Jason’s wrist, it doesn’t seem like he’s trying to analyse it – more like he’s trying to hide it, to deny its entire existence.

Still, the pressure feels good. Jason throws a look at his friend as he prepares to thank him, to say something, anything to reassure him and to get this terrible look off his face.

And therefore he’s already watching his friend’s face when it starts shifting from badly-hidden desperation to pain.

***

Jason doesn’t immediately understand what is happening. Pythagoras’s face is distorted with pain and his mouth is wide open, like he would be screaming if he could find the breath to, Hercules is jumping to his feet and running around the table to reach him, and Circe’s brand is suddenly pulsating under Pythagoras’s fingers. It takes him precious seconds – that feel more like hours – to realize the sorceress is harming Pythagoras through their physical contact and to tear his wrist out of his friend’s grip.

The effect is instantaneous; Pythagoras stops contorting in pain and slumps forward, Hercules barely managing to put his hand underneath his head before it can hit the table. The large man then slips his arm around Pythagoras’s shoulders, making his limp body lean backwards, and Jason knows a few moments of pure terror before Hercules can grunt that he’s still breathing.

Hercules manages to get a good enough grip on Pythagoras to carry him to his bedchamber and Jason follows anxiously, his desire to check for himself that their friend is still alive warring with the fear that any touch from him would reawaken his pain.

Hercules settles Pythagoras on his bed and tries to wake him up, slapping him gently first, and more firmly when it has no visible effect. He ends up emptying a glass of water on his head, but both he and Jason soon have to admit their friend is too deeply gone to be roused yet. As they agree to alternatively keep watch until Pythagoras wakes up, Jason firmly refuses to consider that they might be settling to wait for a long time – or even waiting in vain.

Even when he had known Circe could reach him wherever he went, he had been certain in his decision to spare Pasiphae; it had felt like the right thing to do, like the only thing to do. As he sits staring at his friend’s unconscious face, however, the price to pay suddenly seems far too steep.

***

The sun is almost at its peak when its rays come to touch Pythagoras’s nose and right eye, tickling him back into consciousness. As luck would have it, this happens as Hercules has come to relieve Jason from his watch. Jason, who was feeling guiltily glad to get to rest, feels his dropping eyes shoot open at the sound of the long groan their friend emits as he brings up his hand to block the inopportune light.

Excited, both Hercules and he crowd around the bed, anxious for a sign that Pythagoras is truly awake and well. Jason finds himself holding his breath as Pythagoras’s eyelids, which he has come to despise in the last hours, finally flutter open to reveal his friend’s blue eyes. They contain their usual spark of intelligence, which lays Jason’s main fear to rest: his friend’s spirit hasn’t been irrevocably damaged. When they come to settle on them, however, they don’t show any sign of recognition. If anything, they seem to widen with surprise and – fright? That can’t be right.

Jason’s heart barely has time to sink before Pythagoras, scrambling to sit up in his bed, croaks out a few words that confirm what he’s dreading.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my room?”

***

**Part two**

When he comes back to consciousness, the first thing Pythagoras is aware of is the pain drilling through his brain. The sun isn’t helping either, relentlessly trying to melt a hole in his head, but his arms don’t respond when he tries to get them to block the unforgivable light. He tries to understand, to piece the previous evening back together. Has he been in the cups? He doesn’t often turn to them for comfort, but the Gods know he currently has good enough reasons to do so, what with the terrible circumstances that had brought him to Atlantis, his dwindling supplies, or the loud drunk who had annoyed him yesterday, trying to get him to join in his cheer.

At long last, his right hand deigns to answer his prayers and rises to block out the sun; he groans in relief as the light’s relentless assault against his eyelids stops. An unexpected noise, like someone hurrying to his bedside, makes him open his eyes even though he wishes for nothing more than to go back to sleep. Once his eyes are open, however, all thoughts of closing them again flee him.

Because there are two men next to his bed, and he’s pretty sure he’s never seen them in his life.

“Who are you? And what are you doing in my room?” But even as he says this, he realizes he isn’t in the tavern room he’s been staying at for the past few months. In fact, he’s never seen this place in his life before either! “No, actually, where am I?”

“Pythagoras, don’t joke around. Are you still half-asleep?” It’s the older of the two men speaking. Turning his focus on him, Pythagoras is surprised to discover he _does_ know him after all.

 “Hey! You’re that drunken man from yesterday! The one who kept insisting I should celebrate with him, and then tried to get me to pay his tab!” He looks at him more closely. “Didn’t you have a bit more hair yesterday?”

The man addressed sputters a bit in indignation, but his companion seems to be fighting laughter rather than anger as he conspicuously coughs in his hand. Pythagoras focuses on him next, wondering if he recognizes him as well after all, but – wow. No, he’s certain they’ve never met, because he’d never forget meeting someone this shockingly handsome.

The stranger chooses this moment to look back and to give him a smile that might or might not make all the air rush out of his lungs. As if this isn’t enough, he then proceeds to _sit on Pythagoras’s bed_ ,at which point it’s fair to say the mathematician’s brain simply stops working.

“Hey, Pythagoras. I’m Jason, and he’s Hercules. Do you really…not remember me at all?” The stranger – Jason – has kind eyes to go with his kind smile, but he seems worried as well. Serious. And only then does Pythagoras acknowledge that something might be terribly wrong.

***

The sun is setting down and lighting the room they’re sitting in with a warm orange glow when Pythagoras finally accepts that all of this isn’t a huge joke being played on him. It took a trip to the oracle, to the market stalls and to where the tavern he has been living in since he came to Atlantis used to be to convince him, but he now has to face the truth: a large part of his memories is missing. Close to four years of them, if Hercules and Jason are to be believed. 

They are more than willing to expand on those years when he asks them to; it turns out the things that have happened in this span of time are shockingly numerous – and often hardly believable.

It starts with their respective meetings. Hercules swears he has come to live with the drunken man of his own will; strange, but not impossible, considering the state of his finances the last time he checked them. Jason explains he was a fugitive when they met, and that Pythagoras saved his life by hiding him from the guards; stranger still, yet the man is charming enough for his tale to ring true.

But then it just devolves in a crazy list of adventures Pythagoras can’t imagine himself ever taking part in. Killing the Minotaur, facing the Maenads, saving the son of King Laius, ending in – and surviving! – the Bull Court…and that’s only the beginning. Jason takes over from Hercules as he tells him of their friend Medusa and of her terrible fate, and Pythagoras is surprised at the depth of his compassion for someone who is for all intents and purposes a total stranger to him.

Still, as his companions’ tales come to an end, Pythagoras is no closer to knowing the reason behind his affliction. When he asks, it’s Jason’s turn to avoid looking at him, and Hercules awkwardly pats the young man’s shoulder as he clears his throat and answers.

“We told you Circe had agreed to break the curses she had placed on Medusa and on me, on the condition that Jason would kill the queen.” Pythagoras only nods. “Well, a few days ago, she asked for him to honour his promise. We…well, we got to the palace, but then…”

Hercules is apparently struggling to express what has happened in a diplomatic way, but Pythagoras can imagine it easily.

“You couldn’t kill her.” He addresses these words to Jason; he wants them to be a comfort, but the young man flinches instead. “Because you aren’t a murderer. It’s alright, Jason, it really is. I’m glad you didn’t kill her.”

This, at last, reaches Jason. He brusquely gets up from his chair and leans toward Pythagoras, seizing his hand in the process. Pythagoras blames surprise for the way his heart skips a beat.

“But I swear to you, Pythagoras, I didn’t think she would harm you. I knew I was putting myself at risk, but I thought that if she dared to come close enough to curse you or Hercules I’d be able to act and to protect you somehow. I would never have…I mean, if I had known that you’d be the one suffering…”

Pythagoras waits for Jason to end his sentence, but the other man is apparently unable to do so. Pythagoras smiles, filled with a truly absurd amount of affection for the young hero with the earnest eyes looking straight at him.

“I understand. But I think I speak for both myself and the Pythagoras you knew when I say that personally, I still support your decision.”

Jason exhales sharply, and his eyes are very bright when he finally looks away from him. Hercules clears his throat again as he stands up, trying to defuse the heavy quality the evening air has taken.

“Well, I think we’re all exhausted. Summarizing a year in my busy life has never been easy work, I’ll give you that, but this last one has been particularly hectic – I blame you, Jason, by the way. I think everything will seem clearer in the morning, when we all have a good night’s sleep behind us.”

Jason agrees quickly, eager to put this moment behind him – or perhaps simply exhausted – but Pythagoras is a bit more reluctant, even though his body has been clamouring for rest ever since he woke up. It’s true he doesn’t truly know these men, but there is, all the same, a sense of easy camaraderie to their discussion that he’s never felt before; he can’t help thinking it will all have gone away by the morning. Or worse; perhaps this is simply a strange dream, and he’ll wake soon in his tavern room, tired and afraid and terribly lonely.

He shakes off his silly fears as he stands as well, bidding Jason and Hercules a good night. He can’t be dreaming; his dreams are never this intricate, nor this pleasant. They are simply a canvas for his past mistakes to repeat themselves, again and again, until he wakes up exhausted and with the taste of blood in his mouth.

***

**Part three**

Jason feels like he has merely blinked, rather than slept for hours, when he opens his eyes to the grey dawn light. He’s still pretty tired, and he has just started wondering why he’s awoken so early when he hears it. The sound is faint, but unmistakable. Pythagoras is in pain.

Jason almost stumbles on his own two feet as he gets up from his low pallet and hurries towards Pythagoras’s room, scared of what he’s going to find. After what the past few days have brought, it’s far too easy for his mind to conjure up images of his friend’s face contorted with pain; he’s therefore surprised and relieved in equal measure to find him sleeping.

He’s starting to wonder whether he has imagined hearing something when Pythagoras appears to shudder from head to toe, letting another small sob escape in the process. This close, the sound is even more distressing, and Jason is reacting before he can think about it. Leaning towards his friend, he reaches out to grip his shoulder, so as to shake him awake; instead, his hand brushes Pythagoras’s cheek, and comes away wet.

His heart breaking anew for his friend, Jason sits down beside Pythagoras, softly wiping away the tear tracks on his face. When this doesn’t wake him, Jason gives into the impulse to stroke the soft-looking blond curls, once, twice. Only then do Pythagoras’s eyes flutter open. He stares at Jason, who immediately feels self-conscious – what exactly was he thinking, Pythagoras barely knows him right now, he’s going to think Jason is such a creep – when Pythagoras smiles sleepily at him.

“Mmh…this is nice.” Pythagoras actually nudges up into his hand, like a cat begging to be petted, before closing his eyes again. Jason is happy to comply, but he’s feeling a bit sad as well, because as adorable as this version of Pythagoras is, and as willing as Jason is to bring comfort to him by any means necessary, he isn’t _his_ Pythagoras.

This Pythagoras is more vulnerable, and yet less open – his current sleepy search for comfort notwithstanding. The wounds left by his father have barely scabbed over; he’s probably unwilling to let them, convinced he deserves to suffer for what he has done. All in all, he kicks Jason’s every protective instinct into overdrive.

For the first time, Jason reflects on just how much Hercules must have helped their common friend; not with long heart-to-hearts or comforting hugs after nightmares, but with his way of focusing on the present rather than the past, and his constant offers to share in both his drink and his joy at life’s small pleasures. He also wonders how strange the older man finds it to come face to face with this Pythagoras again, and how much he wishes for their friend to come back.

Hopefully, Jason reflects, all of this will make Hercules agree easily with his plan to go and fight Circe on his own.

***

 “Absolutely not. I told you, it’s out of the question! You are _not_ going to face this lunatic alone.”

Jason sighs exasperatedly. They have been arguing for the last ten minutes (although in heated whispers, so as not to wake their amnesic friend), and he’s despairing of ever getting Hercules to come round to his point of view.

“Listen, Hercules, I am thankful for your support, I truly am, but the fact is Pythagoras is still tired and confused – I’m certainly not bringing him to any fight scene right now. And he needs you, he really does. Do you want him to wake up and find us both gone?” Jason doesn’t complete his thought – that if they both go and the worst case scenario comes to happen, Pythagoras will be left on his own on a far more permanent basis.

“Well at this rate, you can safely guess that I’m not going to wake up to find _anyone_ gone; a pity, since I’m starting to think it’d be the only way to get some quiet.” Pythagoras quips as he comes to join them in the main room, his hair still a bit mussed. Jason wonders whether Pythagoras meant to sound angry; frankly, he mainly comes across as amused. He also wonders whether his friend would mind terribly if Jason were to run his hand in the blond curls once again – just to ensure they stay in place. Or perhaps to mess them up even more.

“Oh, and while we’re gambling, I’ll fully advise you not to place too many coins on the scenario where you go off to fight Circe and I stay here and wonder if and when you’ll ever be back.” Pythagoras adds in a diffident tone.

Jason groans at this, because even if Pythagoras doesn’t remember, they’ve already had this discussion several times and he knows perfectly well how it ends: with all three of them traipsing through the mountains – or the woods, or the desert – and towards danger.

***

They set off for Circe’s cave as the sun nears its highest point, and they are quite thankful to reach the shelter of trees. The trip is shorter than in Jason’s memory, probably because they haven’t gotten lost this time; in his estimation, when they set camp for the night, they are barely an hour away from the sorceress’s lair. It makes all of them nervous, but they agree it’s better than to risk getting lost or meeting Circe in the dark. Pythagoras is clearly exhausted by the long walk, and so Jason and Hercules discreetly agree amongst themselves not to wake him for his watch.

In the next days, as Jason reflects on what could have happened, he’s desperately thankful for their decision.

When it all starts, however, he’s not feeling very thankful; a half-night’s watch represents an important span of time, and sleep is a harsher opponent than anyone he’s ever had the opportunity to threaten with his sword. He’s determinedly digging his nails into the soft part of his palms to wake himself up when he first hears the music. It’s very faint, part of the forest noise at first, and it flees his grasp when he tries to concentrate on it; but when he closes his eyes and manages to relax, he can hear it. It’s hauntingly beautiful, close to a harp tune and yet obviously not played by any human hands.

Jason is entranced for a few seconds before he remembers the terrible curse brought by the Song of the Sirens; who knows what this particular melody can bring? His blood seems to freeze in his veins as he dives towards his friends and tries to wake them; they’re breathing and their pulses are strong but, reminiscent of Pythagoras’s state the previous evening, they don’t respond.

Just as Jason starts to wonder how he’s ever going to get his friends out of here, the music gets stronger, and he can hear the sound of careless feet treading on the forest’s bed of small branches and dry leaves. In lack of a better idea, he slumps against the closest tree trunk, letting his chest fall on his chest to hide his half-open eyes, trying to imitate his friends’ slow and regular breathing.

A silhouette comes into their clearing and draws closer to him, holding a softly-lit pendant from which the music emanates. He closes his eyes as its feet stop near him, and carefully doesn’t react when he is none-too-gently poked twice in the side by a sharp-edged shoe.

“Dead to this world. It’s not your most impressive work, but I must admit this lovely piece of jewellery is quite convenient.” The person close to him drawls, turning to address her companion.

Forget about being kicked in the side: _this_ is when his self-control is truly put to the test. Because he would know this voice anywhere, and it isn’t Circe’s. It’s Pasiphae’s.

***

**Part four**

 “Yes, well, human minds are dreadfully open to suggestion, as you know. Creating melodies to draw their consciousness away from their bodies is boringly easy.” Circe answers Pasiphae from where she stands, far too close to Pythagoras’s resting form for Jason’s peace of mind.

Jason’s mind is racing as he listens intently to the conversation between the two sisters. What are they both, if not human? More pressingly, who exactly is being deceived by Circe? It seems unlikely that his wakefulness could result from a mistake in the sorceress’s spell, which means Circe is lying to her sister, but why? And how can he take advantage of the situation?

His thoughts are derailed by Pasiphae’s answer.

“And yet the Oracle claims it is he, one of those weak creatures, who might still stop what is to come. He may not look like much, but he _has_ slain the Earth Bull.” Her steps slowly take her closer to him once more; he tries to maintain his look of blissful sleep, but he feels impossibly tense. “I should finish it right here, and end this ridiculous uncertainty.”

“You know you can’t kill him directly, sister.” Circe’s voice is sharp.

“Of course I do, how could I forget? But he has more lives than a cat, and I’m getting tired of waiting.”

“There are many ways to get rid of a threat that don’t include death.”

“So you said when you brought me there, but you’ve yet to expand on your thoughts. And you know how I despise riddles – I have more than enough to sate me, what with this ridiculous woman’s indecipherable prophecies.”

“I meant that the boy is foolishly attached to his companions. I first wished to empty this one and leave him as a shell; I was stopped before I could take his whole soul, but no matter. Take a knife, slit their throats and let him wake up next to their dead bodies – I promise you he won’t bother you again. He might even do your work for you and throw himself off the cliff.”

Jason can barely hear Circe’s last sentence; his anger is making his blood rush to his head and fill his ears. How dare she talk of his dearest friends this way? How dare she threaten them?

When Pasiphae makes a small sound of interest – like Circe’s idea is _remarkable_ , like she’s actually _considering_ _it_ – Jason’s last bit of self-discipline is smashed away by his fury. In two heartbeats, he’s seizing the queen, who lets a noise of surprise escape her, and holding his sword to her throat.

“Step away from them.” He growls at Circe, barely recognising his voice. “Or she is dead.”

It’s a dangerous bet in more ways than one; it wasn’t so long ago that Circe herself was ordering him to kill her sister, after all. But Circe takes one step and then another away from his friends, infuriatingly slowly. Contrarily to the queen, she doesn’t seem surprised.

“Sister,” she says, even as she stares at Jason. “Our lovely evening is getting quite chaotic. I think you’d best retire to your chambers.”

Before Jason has time to react to the strange words, Circe claps her hands twice, and Pasiphae is gone.

He almost impales himself with his own sword as he stumbles over the place where she used to stand. He straightens immediately, readying for an attack, even though he doesn’t know what he can do against Circe’s power.

Circe, however, doesn’t seem to be planning an attack. She’s leaning against a tree trunk, observing him as one would a rare animal.

He’s getting ready to charge at her – probably not his most brilliant plan, but he doesn’t have anything else – when she shifts a little and the moonlight comes to rest on her face.

Her whole, unscarred face.

“Your burns are gone.” Jason blurts out. He doesn’t know how he can still be surprised by anything tonight, but he is.

“Yes, well, this was a rather weak attempt at manipulation, I admit. Still, you’d be surprised what pity can move people to do; and who is more pitiable than a woman with no home or no husband left, and her beauty gone?”

“You tried to manipulate me into killing your sister…out of compassion for you?” He’s incredulous, but Circe only nods absently.

“And you didn’t. Then your dutiful oath, which you had taken before the Gods, dictated you to kill her, but you still didn’t. And even when pure rage and fear for your friends moved you, you stayed your sword. And thus there might still be hope for all of us.”

Before Jason can focus on a single question he wants answered, Circe throws him a small bottle. He catches it instinctively, and finds his eye is irresistibly drawn to the thick blue liquid it holds.

“Consider this a gesture of good will.” She says before he can ask. “Make him drink it, and his memories will be back.”

When Jason manages to drag his eyes away from Pythagoras’s memories, there is no trace of the sorceress in the clearing. The sun’s first rays are starting to peak through the foliage to reach them, and he wonders uneasily just how long he has stayed standing there, riveted by the small vial.

“And just when are they meant to wake up?” He asks plaintively of the trees. He gets an unexpected answer in the form of a resounding groan, unmistakably Hercules’s; whirling towards his friends, he’s relieved beyond belief to see they both give signs of consciousness.

Hercules manages to sit up first. Jason hurries to his side, but the older man shoos him away and orders him to make himself useful by helping Pythagoras instead.

“Hear me when I say there’s nothing more unfair in this world than feeling like you’ve had a memorable night in the tavern when in fact, you haven’t.” Hercules informs them ponderously, tenderly cradling his face in his hands. “Dare I even ask what has happened when I was, presumably at least, passed out?”

“Well, it’s a bit complicated to explain,” Jason answers distractedly as he focuses on helping Pythagoras to sit up. “But the most important part is, we’re all alive, and I even have Pythagoras’s memories in drinkable form!”

And as it turns out, in spite of all that happened, Jason isn’t lying – this _is_ the most important part.

There will be time for his friends and him to reconstruct what was false and what was true in his dealings with Circe, for Jason to go to the Oracle and insist on finally getting answers to his questions, for them all to worry about what is yet to come.

Right now, however, Pythagoras smiles beautifully at Jason as he thanks him, and then proceeds to swallow his memories with such grimaces that he soon has Hercules roaring with laughter – even though he admits, when pressed to, that the strange liquid doesn’t truly have a taste. Right now, Jason gets to watch as his closest friend comes to once more know him, truly know him. Right now, he gets to reciprocate the surprisingly strong hug he receives from the mathematician, and even to bury his nose in the thick blond curls tickling his neck.

Right now, this is more than enough. 

**Author's Note:**

> And so ends the first part of this work; thank you very much for reading!  
> This is the most plot-oriented fic I've done in a while, so I must confess I'm a bit nervous about posting it. I've no doubt that the next episode on Saturday will make this all desperately AU, but I hope you've enjoyed it all the same :)


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